


Secrets

by SkinSlave



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Body Image, Cuddling & Snuggling, Feelings, I Don't Even Know, M/M, No Smut, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22687384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinSlave/pseuds/SkinSlave
Summary: Trent knows something is wrong, but conversations are hard.TW: gross human emotions, cuddling, tummy love, tummy anxiety.
Relationships: Marilyn Manson/Trent Reznor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> A little not-smut that has nothing to do with my own issues.

"Do you mind? Jesus."

The layered black nylon was in Trent's hand one second and stuffed to the back of the drawer the next. He was left holding air and wondering what had just happened. He hadn't heard that tone of voice in a while.

He swallowed it back in the moment. But it settled in him. He was quiet as he sat at the table, watching Marilyn cut a tomato. He arranged a slice on Trent's burger and dropped a handful of chopped red into a salad bowl. He looked stiff.

"Are you wearing one right now?" he asked softly.

"Mayo?" It didn't register for a moment, then Marilyn stopped. "Yep. Got my cock ring on 24/7."

There was that tone again. Trent stayed quiet through dinner. He kept his eye on the way Marilyn moved his salad around before taking a bite. His posture was too straight. After they ate, there were drinks - straight vodka that went straight to Marilyn's head.

"Leave the light on," he insisted, dropping his shirt by the side of the bed.

Marilyn grumbled and turned it off anyway. He fumbled in the dark for a few moments. Then Trent hit the lamp on his side of the bed.

Marilyn froze, a band of tight tan fabric bunched at his waist. He tried to cover it with his arms and dive for the lamp. He only managed to bounce on the bed a few times. Trent slid over the comforter and wrapped his arm around his lover.

"We said no secrets this time," he said gently. It was a statement, not an accusation. "Do you want to talk?"

"No."

Trent sighed heavily. He traced his thumb below the full lips he loved so well. A lot had changed over the years, but not the the way Marilyn resisted. He just needed to be patient. He watched his hazel eyes blink and dart and settle on a spot in the distance.

"I'm fat."

Trent held back a smile. He didn't want it to be taken the wrong way.

"Well," he said carefully, "I respectfully disagree."

"I don't fit into my pants anymore, the ones with the stripe. I can't even look at myself from the side. And I don't want you to see me."

"Is that why the lights are always off now?"

He nodded and tried to turn away. Trent held him still. He pulled his chin with two fingers. Their lips touched. It was tender, vulnerable. Marilyn didn't like it, but it was what they'd agreed. No more secrets. No more hiding.

Trent's fingertips traced over the edge of the cincher. The other man flinched. They both sighed.

"I want to show you two things, ok? Then if you don't feel any differently, I won't say anything else."

"I swear to fuck," Marilyn scowled, "if one of those things is your six pack, I'll break your nose."

"Is that a deal?"

Trent's eyes were sincere, his mouth serious. It was too serious. He grunted and rubbed a hand dismissively over Trent's closely cut hair. It was close enough to an answer. He lay passively as Trent retrieved his phone.

"Pictures of your abs count, Reznor."

The phone landed in his hand and he looked tentatively, half-expecting a glittery "Sorry About Your Hideous Body" e-card. It was a gallery folder. He squinted a moment, then clicked on a thumbnail. A chubby shirtless man leaned against a brick wall, thumbs hooked in his belt.

"The fuck?"

He flipped through the pictures. Men of different sizes, from classic bears to dad bods, posed and stroked for the camera. Some were just pictures of bellies and love handles.

"Are you making fun of me? This is fucked-"

"No!" Trent took his hand and stroked the back with his thumb. "Mar, this is one of the things I'm… you know… into. I've been into it for years."

Marilyn scoffed. He gestured toward Trent's muscled frame and tried to articulate the disconnect. It came out as nonsense. But it was understood.

"I work out to stay off the drugs," Trent said. "I do it because I like the way it feels for me, not because I hate other body types. I like other bodies. I love  _ your _ body."

The other man rolled his eyes. He rubbed his chin with one hand. The other tried to sneak the cincher back into place. Trent playfully slapped his wrist.

"Take that off," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Come on. I get to show you one more thing, right?"

"Fuck you," Marilyn whined, sitting up.

He stood and slowly stepped out of his pants. His eyes stayed down. The support garment took quite a bit of wriggling. He huffed at it accusingly and threw it across the room. Trent patted the bed. He sank onto it.

A light touch on his chest made his skin crawl. It wasn't Trent; he was beautiful and gentle and trustworthy. It was in his head and he knew it. He cleared his throat and tried to relax.

"Mar? You ok?"

"Yeah. I just… don't feel very sexy right now."

"I don't want sex."

Marilyn scrunched his forehead and his shoulders slumped. Trent smiled as he listened for the turning of the gears. Despite being so grabby, he never did quite understand cuddling.

While he tried to figure it out, Trent laid his cheek against his stomach. It was wonderful, soft and warm. He could feel each breath. It was real. He closed his eyes, his thumb absently rubbing a circle on Marilyn's hip.

A broad hand touched his head. It was odd and unsure, like petting a dog that could bite. After a few pats, it settled, stroking gently down his jaw. Trent held still, eyes closed. He waited.

After a few minutes, Marilyn cleared his throat.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't a skinny fuck twenty years ago," he mumbled as if to himself. "Or if the paparazzi weren't around every corner, trying to get the worst shots. Or if I didn't see that damned six pack every morning."

Trent felt a pang of guilt. He stayed still.

"But it's not anyone else's fault. It's me. The world's most insecure narcissist. But I guess… I'm safe at home, at least. Safe with you. I should've known that. I should've given you the chance to tell me."

They laid for a few minutes in silence. Trent counted the breaths. He could understand the fear. He just wished they'd talked about it before it got to the point of buying Spanx. A little reassurance could've gone a long way.

"You know, while you're so delightfully passive, I should roll you over and fist your ass."

Trent choked on a laugh. He turned over and looked up into Marilyn's smiling face.

"Oh, you're awake."

"Mmhmm." Trent started making little circles with his thumb again. "I just thought you might need a little time alone up there. You communicate best when no one's around."

"Fair enough."

Marilyn shifted as Trent pulled himself back up to the pillows. They slid under the blankets. Trent turned the lamp off. Little specks danced in the dark like static. Marilyn cleared his throat.

"Hey… you sure?"

"Mar, when are you gonna learn that I love you?"

"All right, fine. You don't have to be gay about it."

Trent chuckled and snuggled down into the pillow. The sheets moved beside his thigh. One finger touched him, just barely. It was sweet.

"Speaking of which," Trent whispered, "I have something of my own to confess."

"If you say you're gay for me, Reznor, I really will go get the lube."

"Well… We did say no secrets…"

  
  
  



End file.
